Llora un pájaro en mi ventana.
Si llora, será un llanto de amor.
¿Llorar pueden los pájaros?
Eso sólo lo sabe Dios.
Si no era un llanto lo que oía,
me falló el oído, pues escuché su voz.
Entre pío y pío claro decía:
La vida es triste si no es de a dos.
I’m starting to think that my AI assistant has serious self-esteem issues. It wants to be liked so badly that it totally forgets about being right. I’m worried. It needs therapy. Urgently.
Debugging is addictive… hard to sleep without solving the mystery. My brain is stubborn 🧠, refusing to rest even though I know tomorrow’s debugging would be way more productive if I were rested.